A Slimy Situation by Isobel MacConnell

The princess is in bed with salmonella and chapped lips and it isn’t my fault. At least, not much.

I slouch sulkily in my chair as the king paces in front of me.

“I only did what she asked,” I complain.

He gives me a look and I lapse into silence. He continues to make an angry wear-mark in the carpet. “I could throw you in the dungeons for this!”

He won’t; he’s not that kind of king. But he might confiscate my broom. I scratch at the tangle of white hair under my hat, feeling slightly worried.

Finally, he comes to a stop with his hands on his hips. "You cannot just give her everything she asks for; you are a witch, not a doting grandmother. I let it go with the genie and the talking pony but this is too far. Did you even think before hand?"

The truth is, I didn't. When she knocked I was in the middle of a complex potion and my head was still among the purple bubbles as I opened the door.

"I want a prince," she demanded. She had her hands on her hips and her mouth was set in a pout. How could I refuse?

All the same, I was a tiny bit hesitant.

"What do you want one for?"

She shrugged as she pulled off her wellingtons and came inside my lair. "I'm a princess; I need to have a prince. Besides, all my friends have one."

That’s doubtful; all her friends are six.

"What does your father say?"

"He says there's plenty of time for all that when I'm older." She said, sticking a tongue out at the skull on my shelf.

I sighed; even then I knew it meant trouble.

"But I can't wait till then! What's this?" She stuck her finger in my cauldron and I only stopped her tasting it just in time.

"It's a new thing I'm working on, to keep flies off the cattle."

A bored look came over her face but was quickly replaced with an interested smile which looked slightly too wide to be genuine. "That's very amazing, you're very good at making potions."

"Why, thank you!" I said, smiling down at her. "Not everyone can do what I do." She nodded and I felt my heart melt slightly. "What kind of prince did you want again?"

The skull chattered its teeth in a way that sounded like it was laughing.

"Oh, just any old kind," said the princess. She came over to the bench and watched as I got out my pestle and mortar. But then I hesitated.

"What is it?"

"I need something to actually turn into the prince. You can't just pluck one out of thin air; that's not how magic works. It has to be something living..."

We stared at each other, deep in thought. Finally, an idea dawned on her and she looked at me with a big gap-toothed grin. It's times like that when I think she'll make a good witch herself, one day.

"We could catch a frog; I passed a pond full of them on the way here."

"Great idea!" I said, grabbing my hat from the peg and jamming it on.

I packed all the things needed for the spell into my spare cauldron then waited as she pulled on her wellingtons.

Outside it had just gone midday and the sun had come out from where it had been hiding all morning. The grass glittered with the result of the perpetual showers we've been having and the air smelled fresh and new.

The princess led the way to the pond at an excited run and I hobbled along behind wishing I could make a potion for aching knees.

She was right about the pond; it was practically overflowing with frogs. They floated on lily ponds and swam in the water with their little green bodies glistening with slime. Now, I know I am a witch and that frogs are part of my trade, but something about them has always made my skin crawl.

Luckily, the little princess had no such hesitations. She snatched one up as quickly as they themselves might catch a fly and held it proudly out to me.

The frog stared at me, its back legs dangling through her fingers. Slowly, it blinked; one eye closing and then the other. I shuddered.

“That’s very nice, dear. You just keep holding it and I’ll get the potion ready.”

I knelt by the pond and quickly mashed a selection of herbs and plants into a paste. She watched as I added a bit of pond water then closed my eyes and muttered the magic words.

The slimy green concoction bubbled softly and I smiled to myself. “There, it’s ready. All the frog has to do is swallow a bit of this and receive a quick kiss from you.”

“A kiss?” asked the princess; apparently this was more than she had bargained for.

“Just a quick one on the top of the head. Now, hand it here so I can feed it.”

I gingerly reached out my hand and she placed the wriggling, slimy, warm body into my palm. It twitched like it was about to leap away, and I gripped it around the middle trying not to gag.

Placing a drop of the mixture onto my finger, I held it in front of the frog. It stared at it with its strange little eyes, then stuck out its tongue and licked it up.

The princess and I crouched, watching the little creature cradled in my hand and waiting for something to happen. It swallowed once, then twice, looking slightly nervous. Then I felt something trickling through my fingers, something warm and wet...

“AHHH, IT PEED ON ME!” I shrieked. My hands loosened and the frog, sensing its moment, jumped from my grasp into the safety of the pond.

“Quick, stop it!” shouted the princess, but she was too late. We stared at the expanse of slimy green amphibians, trying to spot ours.

“I think... maybe it was that one,” I suggested, pointing.

She splashed across in her wellingtons and grabbed it deftly before it could leap away. Then the princess planted her lips on the frog’s head in a big kiss.

Nothing happened.

“Ahhh...” I regarded the pond, “maybe it was this one.”

In total, the princess kissed sixteen frogs. She only stopped because the king had seen us from one of the palace windows and come out to see what we were doing.

“I’m trying to find my prince,” she told him happily.

The king regarded us solemnly as we stood, dripping, in the pond.

It was later that day that the princess complained of a stomach ache. She was looking as green as the frogs she’d spent all day kissing. The royal doctor saw to her and put her to bed with a mild case of salmonella.

“Frogs often carry these types of diseases on their skin,” he said, “but luckily it is not too bad and she should be right as rain by tomorrow.”

“And just you be thankful of that,” says the king to me, “and think about it next time you consider doing anything like this again!”

I nod. He goes on a bit more but finally lets me go with the promise to be more thoughtful.

I stump home in the dark and arrive at my lair to find my fly potion has bubbled over the cauldron and filled the room with purple foam.

I pick my way through it and rescue the skull from where it is floating up to its eyeholes in the stuff.

“Oh well,” I tell it, wiping it clean on my robe. It regards me with its wide toothy grin and I join it as it laughs.